


Yeah, I think I am finally clean

by angelica_barnes



Series: When Is Enough Too Little? [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Forgiveness, M/M, Moving On, Past Relationship(s), Recovery, taylor and harry are siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 16:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14476860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelica_barnes/pseuds/angelica_barnes
Summary: harry and zayn are in love. actual love. not what harry used to have.but there are still the memories. and there are still the scars.but memories fade and scars heal. it just takes time.





	Yeah, I think I am finally clean

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from "Clean" by Taylor Swift

Harry wakes up before Zayn most days. The beautiful raven-haired boy, his savior, sleeps beside him every night, and that’s a hard thing to do. Harry knows he cries, and that he doesn’t sleep well. He tosses, he turns, and he punches at seemingly nothing until a grunt alerts him that his knuckles have imprinted Zayn’s perfect skin in purple and blue.

Harry kisses the boy’s head once before standing on still shaky feet and making his way over to the bookshelf, one of the few things he took from his and Louis’ old house. It’s filled to the brim with stacked piles of so many rectangular things, from leatherbound journals to Paula Hawkins mystery novels, but Harry reaches for the only photo album there is.

He opens it gently, with the heaviest feeling weighing him down, and he thinks, in that moment, that he understands what Atlas feels like day after day with the sky sitting on his shoulders. Harry flips through the pages, glossy photographs of he and Louis laughing, of he and Louis kissing, of he and Louis being so in love it hurt, back before it really, actually,  _ hurt _ . Harry sighs, pressing his fingers to the surface of the memory, his index and middle finger each covering one of Louis’ blue eyes, and he doesn’t know why he still has these.

Remembering makes him sad.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and he jumps slightly, nerves still on end even when he’s lost in his own - well, his and Louis’, old world. Zayn smiles at him softly and sits down next to him, leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry swallows.

“He used to be different, y’know,” Harry whispers. “He used to really, truly, be mine. He was a wonderful person, and I… I don’t know what happened to make everything go so...  _ wrong _ .”

Zayn nods in understanding, kissing the underside of Harry’s jaw before pointing to Harry’s old face, beaming up at them from Louis’ arms in the photograph.

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t your fault,” Zayn says quietly, and Harry appreciates the effort to keep it close to silent in the tense air. He feels a tear trickle down his cheek and his hand comes up to wipe it away by reflex.

“I know,” he says. “But I can’t help feeling like it was. Sometimes.”

 

 

-

 

Harry takes a walk after Zayn kisses him goodbye and goes to work. He doesn’t exactly know what he and Zayn are yet, only that Zayn’s lips are soft and his touches are gentle. And maybe someday they can be more, because Harry does love him, but the idea of being with someone is… scary.

The wind blows through his hair and is constant in its attempts to penetrate the exterior of Harry’s thick coat. However, the cool feeling of it washing over him is fleeting, and he soon finds himself with red, flustered cheeks and bothered eyes that water, and he turns and heads back home.

He doesn’t have a key though, which he forgets as soon as he’s out of sight of any store, so he’s stuck sitting on the cement doorstep and waiting seven hours for Zayn to come home. His heart constricts his chest at that thought, at the mere fear in the back of his mind that maybe Zayn won’t come back, because every time someone leaves, Harry has a minor panic attack.

Zayn would help him through it though, always, but Zayn isn’t here. Not right now.

Harry is suddenly desperate for the tea Zayn makes him only when they’re going to have a movie night, and he pulls out his phone and dials Zayn’s number, even though it’s saved in his contacts.

“What is it, Hazza?” Zayn asks, voice worried as he picks up halfway through the first ring, and Harry lets out a cough, his own sour attempt at a laugh.

“I’m locked out,” he says, and Zayn’s laugh is enough music to keep him full without food for days, “and I’m thirsty.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, and Harry can hear his smile through the receiver; “I’m coming home. Wait for me, alright?”

And Harry nods even though Zayn can’t hear him and listens to the melodic beep that comes with Zayn hanging up to leave the art gallery, and he leans his head back against the door and closes his eyes so the snowflakes get caught in his eyelashes.

_ I always wait for you,  _ he thinks.  _ I wonder if I’ll regret that one day. _

He likes to think he won’t, ever.

 

 

-

 

Harry is surprised when Zayn comes home with a guest, but it’s a pleasant feeling. Taylor seems to be quite keen on not answering any of Harry’s questions and only making him answer hers, things like  _ Where’s Louis _ , and  _ Who’s he _ as she points to Zayn, and by the end of the interrogation Harry is very tired.

They’re watching a movie into the late hours of the night, an old black and white one that Harry’s already forgotten the name of, and Zayn yawns and stretches his arms above his head. He whispers that he’s going to bed, and he gifts Harry with a quick kiss on the lips before escaping the room, and Harry turns to see his sister smirking at him.

“Who  _ is  _ he?” She hisses, and Harry knows what she’s asking and he really can’t be bothered to reply to any more of her questions especially ones like these - the ones he doesn’t have the answer to.

“I don’t know,” Harry whispers, blushing and looking away, and he pretends not to notice when Taylor begins to run her fingers through his hair. He used to purr when someone touched his curls, but then Louis happened. Of course he did, because Harry believes in Fate. They’re having a bit of a riff at the moment though, ironically, because of the blue-eyed boy.

“Harry,” Taylor says, softly yet firmly, and Harry looks her in the eyes with a straight line for a mouth; “He’s Zayn, Tay. I don’t know what else. He’s just, he’s just Zayn.”

And Taylor doesn’t seem satisfied, but she lets the matter drop. However, she stays awake until he shuts his phone off and lets his head drop with a  _ thud  _ onto her lap.

 

 

-

 

Harry pulls back the curtain and watches as Taylor’s car backs out of the driveway. She blows him a kiss from behind the bulletproof glass, and Harry smiles. It’s weak, but it’s genuine, and Zayn comes up behind him to weave their fingers together.

“She’s lovely,” he says softly. “Your sister.”

Harry nods mutely, somehow unable to tear his eyes away from the spot where Taylor’s car had been then turned. “She is,” he agrees. “She’s always…”

He never finishes the sentence, trailing off, and Zayn doesn’t protest or push for more information, perfectly happy with the exact small amount that Harry gives him, and Harry takes deep breath. He turns to Zayn and freezes for a moment, staring into those beautiful chocolate eyes.

“I want you to braid my hair,” Harry whispers, and Zayn gives him a soft smile and leads him to the living room. He sits in the armchair and Harry on the floor, and they trade stories from their imaginations and memories as the fire crackles and Zayn sews the threads of Harry’s curls together, as he stitched Harry’s scars closed, as he still is, back when Louis left slits in Harry’s skin and now, when the blood still won’t wash off his hands.

He hates to think he’s dirtying Zayn, too.

 

 

-

 

Harry wakes up before Zayn, again, not for the first time nor the last, and Zayn’s eyes flutter open as Harry reaches out a hand to trace the outline of his cheekbone. They smile at each other for a moment, before Harry whispers into the quiet empty air, “I wanna come with you.”

Zayn laughs, music, and kisses Harry’s mouth, earning a whimper as he pulls away, and they both slip out of bed, leaving the covers mussed.

“Okay,” is Zayn’s answer, and they dress and Zayn drives them to the grocery store. They tell jokes and make each other giggle girlishly while dropping items in their cart, and it feels nice.

Nice is a reawakened, slightly familiar feeling.

Harry strains his neck to look over the hundreds of heads, so he can read a sign for Zayn, and that’s when he sees him.

Louis’ hair is scruffy, and he’s wearing an old sweater that Harry used to steal, and when he turns his head and happens to meet Harry’s gaze, Harry realizes as his breath is taken away,  _ His eyes are still blue. _

Now, it isn’t the most intellectual thing to think, but Harry can’t really right now. Think, I mean.

“Harry?” Zayn’s voice pierces through the blank white that’s been trying to blanket his mind, and Harry can tell the exact moment when the raven-haired boy sees Louis, because Harry feels an arm slither around his waist and the fingers of the hand tighten on his hip protectively.

Louis overcomes his shock first and smiles, half-heartedly, and he lifts his hand and waves. Harry sees Zayn’s eyes narrow in his line of peripheral vision, but Harry has no intention of talking.

He raises his own hand and waves back, with a genuine grin, before turning to Zayn, whispering, “I wanna go home,” and walking away.

He doesn’t look back.


End file.
